The Beings of Consolation

Trepidation of the Hyacinth


Blackened skies,
And the rain pouring down –
Tearing from the remnants
Of the soldier's crown;
An inclination
Never to reward, –
The trepidation of the hyacinth
Never uttered but a word
In the adulation
Of a sunlit frown;
And a blood drenched sword.

Tumbling from the eyes:
Memories of the skies,
Temptations all abound;
The resonant cries of a generation
That was stolen from these confounds –
Never a word of truth spoken,
But an once of youth to surround, –
By Heaven's brutish clemency
On an Earth that so resounds;

In the adulation
That did shrink the meek –
There were many moments
For the taken
And the wounded to seek;
Crumbling through the hands
Of the blessed and the weak:
The resolution wandered
Into a land of which
No one could speak –

A terrain that had been lost
To the blessed and the fools,
Where no Kings had any reign
And no treasures
Fostered the cruel, –
A land where nothing could be lost
At no matter what the cost,
But everything could be imagined;
For the tempted rejects that controlled
Unmentioned and verboten passions –
By their fingers they were crossed.

And by their torments they were ruled;
All for the simple existence of a flower –
That no deeds or love could ever empower;
But only be it unto aggression's inclination
That these souls be admonished
For a world of fruitful necessitation…
The fates be it by the world that make it grow
Or the sunlight be it unto its own indignation –
From flows of the final throws of passion
That gave it such sense of resignation; –

Trepidation be it to the masses
For what is never owned –
This growth forgets the truth,
And by its answers it is known;
Those of the likeness
Of what is to be always forgotten –
And to its ends it will be compromised,
Forever soiled and rotten;
What begets of the higher classes
Within the alchemy of their agrarian pursuits –
The constant longing,
And the soil so resolute;

Ever asked what begs the question,
Yet fostered in the silent responses –
These are the days of the absolute pestilence
Whereby the truth is to be forever ensconced within us;
The hate-filled sunlight towers of the dissidents,
Of the all-empowered acclamation of the miscreants –
Never these the tales have been requited,
Within the assailed and seldom told
Albeit the uninvited:
Those the requisite beings of all truth be told, –
Before their faithless, hollow vision could ever shatter the mold;

The very likeness of which
Would never shatter in the wake
Of its own ugliness –
Trepidation utters but a sigh;
For the grotesques beings that often often run
Only to hide;
These are the days of the beings within in the acquisition
Of an unrequited love that knows no superstition –
The all encompassing likeness of a moonlit crown
Has fallen from Earth,
And from this mountain has tumbled down –
From the belonging, and the wares of this place,
There are no signs
And there is no disgrace;
For furthest are the reaches of ignominy,
Then granted are the stretches of this infamy:
Charred and burned is the future
And the memory, –

A query into the livelihood of the wise
Has beaten down these questions
Such that no one could hide –
Absent of a stolen pride;
There is something that has been left
For the broken to live a lie:

A salutation to the immanent rewards
That observe the adulation
And reclaim the sword –
Far be it from the saved to ever follow
From kindness to the beleaguered and the right;
The trepidation has encumbered us
Within the darkness and the light;
Ever be it to the answer,
And always be it to the night;
That the stolen and the wise are not frozen
But awakening the desire within this plight –

The immanent and the chosen,
And the broken and the infused;
So much of the insight that the sunlight tends to lose –
Goodbye, all fairness and so as to acquiesce;
The daylight smiles within this child
And within this fortress –
Never to hide from the desperation
Of an aspiration that finds success.


An Incipient Insurrection


Trepidation affords no faults
Beyond the ground –
It takes out the soil,
And with it, becoming does confound;
These managerial wavers
Of the simple territorial mind,
Consuming holy wafers
By the light of the star-filled skies;
Perplexed by the insurrection –
Penetrating every pore;
The mighty deflection
The will secretly adores, –
Basking in an illumination
Of a single beam of photons,
The gravity pulls out the dream;
Replacing it with an atom bomb potion –
In the becoming of the genes;
This green passage of truth
Eclipsed by the explosion;
The faces of a darkened wisdom
Possessed by the gravity of need –
Freed from the deception;
A cheating fortitude at the helm,
The plaintiff in a case
To be the honour of the film –
From the regress of the mirrors
Into the brains of the incumbents;
Tactile energies abound
Of the sanctified arguments –
Aboard a vessel that has nothing
Of not regrets, –
Stored in the return, an existence;
A displaced epithet –
Cornered and stoned,

The village idiots –
Lambasted at the throne
Though saved to be Patriots;
Alone in the observances
Of these ill, fractured beings: –
The wandering souls
In a distaste for living;
Commissioned by the actions
Of the dead daydreaming –
A child of one-hundred
Still plotting and scheming;
Daylight comes,
And the end draws near –
The more the spirit does withdraw
Breeds twice the fear;
Titanium mountains erupt
Crashing waves into tears –
The battle has only begun